I'm writing this by the stove wearing mittens and several jumpers, facing the big sliding glass doors that replace what would once have been the barn doors to the top floor of a traditional Cumbrian bank barn. The ground rises steeply so that, while the other side of the house looks out on to the tops of trees and it's like being in a tree house, this view puts me at mole's-eye-level, watching the birds hopping about in the fallen leaves above my head. A wren like a fat mouse, two woodpeckers, whose scarlet feathers look pretty flashy for a Northern bird, nuthatches, tree creepers and all the usual bird feeder suspects just busy "being". Meanwhile, inside, the cat has been precariously and unusually (she's not cuddly) balanced on my leg, perfecting the art of looking casually relaxed in the most uncomfortable situations whilst I sit and wrestle with the meaning of life, a thousand forms of self inflicted angst and the awful guilt of needing to move my leg.Winter came a couple of days after I wrote the previous post and I think I'm missing the calming effects of swimming because I decided to hand my notice in at work yesterday after reasoning that life is too short for battles over dusters and it wasn't fair on either of us. Yet again I have cast myself adrift on a sea of ideology and land looks a long way off!Perhaps Rupert has made the link between swimming and my emotions because last night he was reading up on cold water acclimatization and pricing up neoprene gloves and hats... maybe I'd better snap out of my blue mood quickly!  Cold water swimming seems to be one of those things that are in vogue at the moment, a bit like the sudden popularity of the term Hygge. The connections with mental health are fairly well documented; I don't think it's surprising that various ideas of "self care" and ways of tuning in to, and finding solace in, the natural world are popular at the moment- a time when the world seems particularly precarious and ideological divisions are widening.Here in this corner of the Cumbrian mountains the snow came like a gift to a million Instagrammers. Experienced mountain types dashed out to enjoy the alpine conditions from the tops while at lake level the rest of us had trouble getting anything done because there was too much lovliness everywhere you looked...dazzling snow with firey autumn leaves, azure skies, frosted rose hips and pink alpenglow evenings.If you have been reading this blog for more than one winter you will know that snow and winter are a special time for me - despite the constant moaning about cold fingers and trying to feed a ravenous stove. I'm hoping that inspiration will strike as it often does in the long winter nights; time to reflect and reassess is part of the creative process but it often feels self indulgent and it's easy to feel guilty when you're not as busy as those birds outside the window.Last week I had a huge last minute treat which was a place on a "Quirky Workshop" in Greystoke with Emma Redfern. We spent all day being shown how to make messenger bags, being fed and indulging in the luxury of taking time to make something. I used a half finished embroidery project I hastily took with me as well as some pieces of Spoonflower fabric; luckily Emma and my table neighbour Tara were able to let me use some of their lovely fabrics too as I hadn't had time to get any myself. A guilty pleasure or a vital reminder of the importance of companionship, craft and simple pleasures? I certainly felt inspired and happy that evening and more than ever aware of the dangers of too much solitude and creative isolation.Now it's getting dark outside and the trees are just silhouettes against an elephant grey sky. Time to close the curtains, stoke up the fire and get busy in the real world instead of this virtual one. Thank you for reading xReading: "Miss Smilla's Feeling For Snow" Peter Høeg and "What They Didn't Teach You in in Art School"  Rosalind Davis & Annabel TilleyListening To: I've been listening to "Carrie's War" by Nina Bawden on the radio, in the bath, because nothing quite beats warm bubbly water and a story from your childhood to make life seem proper cozy :)

November arrived in great style with rustling piles of crispy leaves, the kind you can jump in and throw about, seldom seen in recent soggy years. Autumn colours almost worthy of a New England Fall and blue mirror lakes reflecting impossibly blue skies. It may seem as though I'm constantly swanning about having photogenic adventures in perfect landscapes while the rest of the world knuckles down to an honest day's work... I can assure you this is mostly down to editing and curating, but recently I have to admit it's all felt like living in a Disney Autumn scene.Last week we had another emergency visit to the bookshop, a torchlit climb up Wansfell and an atmospheric Halloween night spent in the van on the side of Coniston. The photo above is a before shot; before swimming out to the little island in Moss Eccles Tarn,with icicle fingers, discovering a perfect red and white toadstool in the middle of the fairy kingdom and swimming back feeling smug (for being brave enough to brave it on November 1st) and blissful with the sun in our faces. I don't think the fairies minded being disturbed but I think I heard them laughing.After the swim we walked around the garden of Beatrix Potter's house Hill Top. The house was closed for the winter but what a treat to have the garden almost to ourselves... last time we visited it was so busy with groups of people and tour guides that we had to queue in the garden listening to an introductory talk and Sara had a spectacular attack of suppressed giggles so that tears were streaming down her face by the time we got in. What a perfect little house and garden, I could sit and draw there all day.Channeling my inner Beatrix (I'm getting to be almost her shape these days too) I've been drawing hedgehogs in quiet moments at work and expecting to be told off at any moment.

A book is a dream that you hold in your hand.–Neil Gaiman

Last week I was told I must clean shelves at all times and reading was banned even during the quietest days when everything was sparkling... this week I was told off for cleaning while customers were in. I'm a confused and resentful rebel; the teenager who wouldn't eat fish pie at school, the child who got in trouble at primary school for putting her hands in a tray of seed compost because she wanted to see how it felt, the frustrated artist disguised as a middle aged shop assistant! I've mused a lot about work in this blog and of course I'm aware that potential employers may read this and give the naughty troublemaker a wide berth but actually I think they'd be missing the point and the potential. Rules and regulations should also allow for imagination and inventiveness which is how things advance and grow and without which we are extras in a Samuel Beckett play or living a scene in Catch 22. I read this meme recently "people don't leave good jobs they leave bad managers" and looking back now I actually miss (the early years) working in a pub in Osmotherley when despite the long hours and low pay I would gladly have done just about anything for the manager Helen who had a healthy cynicism about our bosses, the job and a real skill in asking rather than telling. Helen now runs TeaCakes of Yorkshire, a lovely online tea company and I miss her loads.Hey ho, the perils of over sharing in a public arena... but life's too short not to say what you mean just so long as you're not nasty. Now it's almost time for me to throw some more logs on the stove and find another pair of socks to put on over the other two - November is showing its other face today, it's cold and damp and the leaves are mushy gold on the doorstep. Last night we went up Catbells in the dark to watch the fireworks, it was so clear and bitingly cold, sitting on the rocks drinking hot blackcurrant and Brandy and contemplating almost two years in Newlands Valley.I dug out this old sketch which I'd made after one of our weekend trips here from "home";  it seems so long ago now but the drawing feels more special now that I'm living surrounded by those colours , today the fells are just as black and topped with mist. Meanwhile in the land of blue and white more horses have emerged and a bear has left the Artfinder shop which is fantastic news and really encouraging.Keep warm where ever you are and enjoy the last of Autumn xReading: "When the Floods Came" Clare Morrall Listening to:  "Paper Moon" Ella Fitzgerald after listening to Ali Smith on Desert Island Discs

A bear with a jar full of stars, a valley full of chiffon mist, celestial blue skies; if only life could always be filled with such magic and beauty. I feet like retreating into my inner land of make believe this week and potentially that may be the safest place.It's been the most unbelievably atmospheric Autumn here in the Lake District so far. Clouds and mists rise and fall, flowing down the valleys and draping themselves over the tops like gossamer bridal veils - forgive the flowery language but you can see why all those poets got carried away with it around here. Sunday's walk was a perfect example ... beginning in sun dappled forests smelling of pine and mushrooms and earth (Shinrin-yoku), enduring a slog up a boggy hillside in thick fog (navigation practice, hmmm) to emerge on an eerily lit summit where an almost biblical revelation occurred as the mist slid away in stages to reveal layer upon layer of heartbreakingly gorgeous landscape.I hear it's been like that above a certain height all week but for one reason or another I have been unable to reach up to the sunlight through the fog.I had been due to start my new job at the Museum yesterday. As I said in my last post it had meant that at last I would be earning enough to justify my existence on the planet but not only that; I was hoping it would mean meeting more people over here, drawing me out of what has become an increasingly hermit like existence. I also really liked the Museum. I got an email on Saturday asking me to "pop in on Monday for a chat".I had been offered the job on the merit of my interview and the carefully prepared presentation on " The Benefits of Working with Volunteers", the gallery in Keswick provided a good reference and I had all the dates on the calendar and my shoes polished for day one. Only I did a stupid thing. I trusted in honesty and good intentions.I'd given Joe Cornish ( the photographer not the comedian ) as a referee, believing in my naivety that, despite all the difficulties in the cafe towards the end of my time there, I'd loved my work organising the creative workshops and that I had done a good job, been a dedicated and effective member of staff and that Joe himself was a man of integrity and an artistic soul (as his website claims). I was very wrong. Joe was too busy packing for a trip to write anything so his partner suggested they ask the gallery. Joni (who had cried when I left and apologised for her mismanagement of the situation) wrote a reference that made me sound like a lovable village idiot who could just about make a cappuccino but was unlikely to manage anything too taxing involving any "attention to detail", numeracy, organisation or reliability... and thus I was sent away humiliated and shell shocked, the job offer withdrawn. I am indeed an idiot, I expect people to act fairly and compassionately and they don't. The past is a hole thinly covered with branches on a sunlit path and inside the hole there are spikes and mud and monsters.I also found out that Joe is again running his exclusive residential workshops from the lovely North York Moors surroundings of ....wait for it.... Snilesworth Lodge, shooting estate and home of the delightful and kind Toby Horton, UKIP landowner. I felt like I'd been beaten up.I've moaned at you and it's a massive turn off but sometimes things need saying and the cat wasn't really being very responsive. In other news I've been printing mugs and lurking about in my pyjamas in next door's porch trying to photograph them ( the mugs not the pyjamas) in the morning light, I've been listening to Elbow and trying to play my mandolin and getting trapped in corners by spitting alpacas... not all at the same time though. I won't always be moaning so please come back soon, thank you for listening. xReading :-"Nature Cure" - Richard Mabey  Listening To:- Real Life (Angel) -  Elbow